Just one shot
by Winkey67
Summary: ,,It hurts too much and dying is hard, but staying alive is harder and you can't fight the darkness anymore... So you just close your eyes. My heart misses a beat when your hand goes limp." two-shot, Friendship or pre-slash. NOT character death. Rated T for violence. Ch. 1 is mostly angst and John's POV, Ch. 2 is h/c, fluff and 3rd person's POV, but mostly centered around Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** two-shot, still working on second chapter. First chapter is John's POV, Friendship or pre-slash (It wasn't supposed to be Johnlock at first, but then, you can take it as you like). First chapter is mostly angst, but there will be some fluff later. NOT character death. Rated T for some violence.

**Authors notes:** This is my first fanfiction ever, so please, don't be too harsh on me...  
It's unbetad and I'm not native english speaker, so I apologize for whatever mistakes I might or might not made, and if you see some, go ahead and tell me, I'll be glad to know your opinion, however critical it might be. Hopefully it's not too much OOC. What do you think? Is it good? Is it crap? Please, let me know!

**Disclaimer:** Suprisingly, I don't own any characters, I just like to see them suffer a bit.

* * *

We just finished another case

It was rather dangerous one, london mafia and drug dealers were involved, I thought it was over by now, though.  
We got murderer, safely in prison, caught and unable to harm anyone else, case is closed, then...  
I should've known by now that you can't ever be sure it's over.  
Not with Sherlock Holmes, at least..

We're heading away, it's getting dark and you're smiling at me with that half-smirk of yours. Then I hear it.

One shot... Just one shot.  
The gun is aimed at me and I can see the bullet in slow motion. I can't move and on one second I think I'm going to die, but then you jump in it's way and I know I'm going to die for sure.

Someone else shoots that man, there are still cops everywhere, but Lestrade is gone by now and I move as fast as I can, but it's late, I'm too late...

You fell.

I can smell the rain, dust and dirt, your scent in the air... And blood.

I'm here, I whisper softly, as I cradle your vulnerable, broken body in my arms.

There is so much people around, just standing and staring, but I don't give a damn about them, I can see nothing except the blood, there is just too much of it and it's all over my hands, but I don't care about that neither... Someone is calling an ambulance, but I can't quite hear them, as I try to stop the bleeding.

Your eyelashes flutter, just a little bit, gently...  
Your body is heavy.  
_Heavy with the burden you carried on you shoulders alone for far too long.  
But you were always too stubborn to admit that...  
_I grimaced at that thought.

My brain still can't catch up. It's so.. so stupid. So abstract.

_One bloody bullet._

And now I can see you fading away, where I cannot reach. You're quiet, shivering a little, falling apart...  
Falling apart in my arms.

Your face is twisted with pain and maybe, just maybe I can hear you choke out my name in one small, low whimper. You try to say something, but you can't even breathe so I shush you and tell you to shut up for once, tell you it's going to be okay and that hurts because I know, that if you could just open your eyes and look at me and didn't wear this pained expression, that you'd give me one of those Do-I-look-like-an-idiot looks of yours...

You're still whimpering quietly, even thought you're obviously trying not to, and it's the wost thing I've ever heard in my whole life.

Is this how it ends? One bullet, thats it?

,,No, it can't be, you can't just die, _you are bloody Sherlock Holmes_, you're stubborn, genial bastard with brilliant mind that annoys the hell out of me and everyone around, you can't die, not like this, you can't leave me here!", I want to scream at you.

My vision is blurred and I don't even try to stop tears forming in my eyes.  
After few moments I realize that those strangled, choked sobs I hear are coming out of my own mouth, but I can't stop them. Even if I'd tried, I just.. I just can't.

I can't, and you know somehow, maybe it's the way I'm holding you, desperately, afraid to let you go, and when my hand finds yours, I squeeze it, harder than necessary.  
In fact, so hard that you whimper loudly one more time, but I'm not letting go and you just weakly squeeze me back like a response.

You try to smile reassuringly at me, but you can't - It hurts too much and dying is hard, but staying alive is harder and you can't fight the darkness anymore... So you just close your eyes.  
My heart misses a beat when your hand goes limp.

You're still now, oh so still... Silence embraces us, and then, there is no us anymore, it's just me and your heavy body, lying quietly in my arms.  
I'm calling your name, but you don't hear me. I shake with your lifeless body, but you can't feel it.

I hear an ambulance, and it's so close, but it might be too late and please, don't let it be too late, please...

I'm wet from all that blood and water, all mixed with mud, because we are lying on cold, hard ground, which wouldn't be so scary if you weren't so damn cold neither. And when I see you lying here, half on ground, half on my lap and in my arms, you... You just look so fragile, more fragile than normally and your porcelain skin is even paler than usually, but that's no wonder, considering you just took a shot.

Oh, Sherlock.. You god damned idiot, you just had to jump in front of that gun, didn't you?

Then they're here and they are taking you away from me.  
At first I don't want to let you go, but then, they'll sure can help you, and sure, I am a doctor, but this.. This is too much. Far too much.

This is _you_.

And I can't even do anything, so I just watch them, taking you away and then I just sit on the groung and stare at my blooded hands until Lestrade comes and gently puts his hand on my shoulder.  
He says it's not over.  
We're heading to the hospital now.

And I can smell the rain...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** So, here you go, second chapter. It's Friendship/romance, pre-slash if you want _(I swear it wasn't supposed to be Johnlock)_.  
First chapter was mostly angst, this is bit of h/c, little bit of fluff... You know, nothing too much serious. Feels involved, though.  
**  
Authors notes:** Remember - first fanfiction, please, don't be too harsh...  
Unbetad and author's not native english speaker, so sorry for whatever mistakes I might made, and if you see some, go ahead and tell me, I'll be glad to know your opinion, however critical it might be (And thanks for heartwarming reviews, I'm really glad you like first part...)

**Disclaimer:** Still own nothing, but as soon as I will, I'll make sure ya'll hear about it.

* * *

Everything is blurry, unfocused, indistinct and... (_painfull)_  
But when he thinks about it, all that is probably because of pain. Or blood loss. Or, well, maybe because of the bullet in his gut, who knows.  
He.. can't quite..  
Someone's holding him. Someone's talking and..  
Pain, pain everywhere, it_ hurt_s so much, _everything _hurts_... _But there's something important, oh so important, and he just needs to know what's-

_John._

He opens eyes, just a little crack.. John. This has to be John.  
He's squeezing his hand - hardly. But Sherlock doesnt mind, he even manage to squeeze back a little.  
He can't understand what John's saying, but he looks so scared.. Sherlock tries to smile a little at him, tell him not to worry, tell him he's going to be just fine, and that's so illogical because he knows that's not true..  
But he can't talk that anyway.

Then he fully realizes that John's okay, uninjured, that all that blood is his and relief washes over him.  
John's alright, he's going to be okay... That's what he needed to know.  
_He's alright._

With that, he lets the darkness take over his mind and his hand goes limp.

* * *

He's waking up slowly.

His mind can't quite work out where he is. It's dark in there...  
But that's probably because he can't open eyes just yet, it's too hard... So he stops trying and thinks for a moment.  
He tries to remember, but his mind is so painfully slow.. And there's another painful thing - his abdomen hurts like hell and his whole body aches. And... Whats that sound?

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

It's irritating.  
Oh, so tired... But even though he feels that dull pain, he feels strangely comfortable and warm at the same time.  
Maybe he should just go back to sleep, but there is somenthing in the back of his mind that won't let him - something important, something...

Then it hits him, his mind suddenly full of memories, pictures and _emotions.  
_That man. Gun. And.. God, he thinks so slowly, so clumsily, what's the matter with him? Perhaps it's partly because of some strong medication they had to gave him.  
_Ah_, Hospital then.  
That explains a lot. Including that stupid bleeping.

And suddenly, one thing, or rather person, crosses his mind - this is why he couldn't go back to sleep, that's it, that's-

**_John._**

_Beep. beep. beep. beep. beep._

This makes his eyes snap open in the matter of seconds and in instant, he tries to sit up.  
,,Jawn...!" He yelps, and then there is strong pair of hands forcing him to lie down again _(I'm here, Sherlock, m' here, it's okay!)_ - but, honestly, he'd do that anyway, since he feels like there is some agitated animal in his gut, trying to tear it open from the inside.  
That pain makes him hiss a little, even though he tries not to.  
He closes eyes again, curled on side, trying to take control over his erratic breathing.

After while he looks up and chokes out the name of person who's still holding him down firmly, but gently, and whose eyes are currently staring down at him with obvious concern.  
,,Jo-hn..."  
God, his throat is sore.

Said man hesitantly lets go of him, but not before he says with warning in his tone - ,,Don't try to sit up."

Sherlock would normally laugh at him and ask John if he considers him an idiot, but now he still works on catching his breath, so he won't do that.  
He still shots him that look though - and in that moment, John doesn't know if he should laugh or cry, so he just responds with hesistant grin on his face and hands Sherlock glass of water.

Still-slightly-confused-detective gratefully takes glass and drinks it whole in few slow sips.  
,,Thanks.." He says lowly then, voice still kinda raspy.

Then he scans John more carefully - His blogger obviously didn't sleep for awhile, nor he didn't properly ate, shaved or washed, but at least he's wearing different clothes now.  
Judging by chair next to bed and Johns crumpled clothes, he didn't leave his side at all, probably even slept here.

Sherlock feels something warm and fuzzy in his chest at that thought, even though he can't name it.

Ah, John, his stupid, loyal blogger...  
But then, maybe it's just polite to stay at hospital with someone who who jumps in front of the gun and takes bullet instead of you - that Sherlock doesn't really know.

Before John, there wasn't much people who would, nor much people with whom he'd stay with (he really hates hospitals, and even when he won't admit it out loud, maybe, just maybe he's a bit scared of them)...  
Well, there was Lestrade, who was evidently injured few times and obviously, even thought Sherlock doesn't show it much, he really cares for DI, so it's sure thing he stayed with him in hospital as long as he could... Or till his wife came - but after divorce, that happened very rarely.

But that's a bit different - Lestrade is kind of like father to Sherlock, he's giving him cases, and what's more, Lestrade truly cares for him and helps Sherlock even when he really doesnt have too.. And vice versa, of course.

You'd say, speaking about caring and helping, this is precisely what John does - but no, it isn't. It's just not the same.. At least, Sherlock feels it's not the same, but frankly, he's a bit (or a bit more) rubbish at feelings, so he's not completely sure.  
He just doesn't think of his blogger that way...  
Which of course doesn't mean he don't cares about John - not in the slightest. Sometimes, he thinks, he cares a bit much.

So yes, now, staring up at Johns face, Sherlock truly doesnt know what to do or what he is expected to do.  
But as it turns out, he doesnt have to do anything.

Few moments they just stare at each other, visible tension slowly building in the room - Sherlock has look on his face John never before saw him wear, bit of like dear in the headlights, and at that, he feels his heart melt a bit more...  
So John just rolls his eyes and with kinda strained, harsh voice he says,

,,You stupid, bloody idiot, don't you dare to do something like this again or I'll kill you myself."

and with that, he hugs confused detective.

If there was something Sherlock really wasn't axpecting, that's it. He stiffens for moment, but then he finds his body (a bit unwillingly, he really doesn't mean to), ignoring discomfort and dull pain, leans against John and hugs him back.

It indeed is a very awkward and clumsy hug, but it's so honest and desperate at the same time, it almost hurts.  
Or, it really, really hurts, when Sherlock thinks about it, that shot-in-the-gut thing, you know, but he just can't bring himself to care because he is overflowed with emotions and it's just too much, he feels like he's gonna cry, he can't even -

Detective moans a little then, not intentionally, but anyway, John finally (though with great effort) lets go of him.

,,I was serious, please, don't do that again, sherlock..." He mutters after moment awkward silence.

Sherlock, who is now staring at floor again, doesn't respond. He doesnt know what to say - what is he supposed to say, he just couldn't let his best friend die... No way he'll apologize, if John's expecting something like that.

But John isn't.

,,Sherlock, I'm not- look, I'm not angry with you, I'd do the same for you, but you have to understand, I'm... it's just..." His voice cracks a little, as he sits in chair right next to detectives bed. Sherlock finally looks up, just to see his blogger look away in instant. (His blogger? He really shouldn't refer to John like that, even in his mind, John's not his and besides... He probably wouldn't like it much.)

Finally, he speaks, softly - ,,It's just what, John... ?"

John laughs a little at that, but it doesn't sound like he's amused at all.  
,,I just don't know what I'd do if you died." He says lowly, leaning against Sherlocks bed, resting his head on his own hands.

Sherlock, once again, doesn't really know what to say.

He doesn't deserve this man. He doesn't deserve this caring, kind, loyal and loving man at all.  
How can John even stay with him - it's a mistery Sherlock simply can't figure out, can't solve and it's driving him mad... There is only one possible solution and consulting detective still isn't sure about that, but he knows one thing for sure...

If he's right, he feels the same way. Well, he feels that way even if he's wrong, but... He just doesn't know how to world it. And that is very rare for Sherlock Holmes.

,,John.." He whispers, and there is so much emotions in that one quiet voice, so much affection...  
Sherlock's hand finds the other ones then, quietly squeezing it, just like John did before.  
At that, his blogger looks up with kinda watery eyes and with wide grin spreading his face involutary, as he answers, voice clouded with fondness...

,,I know, you git. Me too."

And then he squeezes back.

* * *

**Author notes:** So, finally complete.. I have to admit, it didn't came out quite as I planned.  
But honestly, when I started writing, I didn't even plan for Sherlock to survive, but what can I say - In the end, I just couldn't kill him, I couldn't do that to John... Guess I'm too soft with them, but don't worry, that won't happen next time *evil grin*  
Duh, it's a bit weird, I know, these two are just kinda hard to write for me..

Anyway, I hope ya like it, and remember, reviews are always welcome, I'd love to know what you think!


End file.
